“Alright, Mr. Smith. I am going to need to have you drop your drawers and bend over with your elbows on the table.” I was using my perky voice.
I placed a box of Kleenex down apologetically on the exam table in front of him.
“You are going to do what?” He stared incredulously at me. He was an older man with a receding hairline and an uncanny resemblance to my father.
“I am here to check your prostate.” I tried to maintain the perky tone even though my hands shook and my palms sweated as I pulled on the latex gloves.
“Like hell you are.” His voice was raised and I could detect a hint of distress. He stepped menacingly toward the door.
Taken aback, I stood up quickly getting out of his way.
The shadow lurking in the corner stepped forward.
“Mr. Smith, if you do not allow this exam, you will not get paid the $25…”
He looked at the shadow.
Then at me.
Then back to the shadow.
“Fine,” he growled. In no time, his pants were down around his ankles.
It was then that I felt my first prostate…